What we have here is/are LIES AND MISINFORMATION, a 3-part Series — Part 1: LIES WE TELL OURSELVES. Ammo Grrrll writes:
Where would we pathetic, disappointing human beings be without “the little white lie”? If we honestly answered every inquiry as to whether or not “this dress makes me look fat,” or if we think that hideous haircut is flattering, we might have no friends. With few exceptions, men would have no wives.
How would we have gotten through college without getting extensions on overdue term papers due to the untimely deaths of several of our relatives? The first time I did this, I stressed myself out believing that my telling my Physical Geography professor that my Grandma had passed would cause her to die prematurely and it would be all my fault. Thankfully, she lived 15 more years, passing at 91. (I still only got a C in the course.)
How would ludicrously unqualified applicants find a paying job without at least padding our résumé, to say nothing of awarding ourselves bogus Master’s Degrees? When Joe was in a civil service job in San Francisco part of his job was testing and evaluating applicants for other civil service jobs. In a fit of self-awareness he said to a co-worker: “Now we are the people we lied to to get these jobs.”
Civil service in S.F. in the ’70s was a somewhat casual affair. One memo went out informing employees that henceforth nude sunbathing on the roof at lunchtime would not be allowed and that wine would no longer be served at staff meetings. Joe wore a suit we had had to save up for on his first day on the job. His supervisor met him in a Che t-shirt. An officemate had a full-size poster of himself in drag. Now, of course, he would just show UP in drag.
You can tell that we are habitual liars because one of the most common phrases people use is “I’m gonna be honest with you…,” which is a sure sign that up to that point, they HAVEN’T been. Sometimes it is phrased as a question, “Can I be honest with you?” And my answer is always “By all means. Do. Evidently it will be a nice change of pace.”
Another clue that we rely on a certain level of dishonesty as lubricant to human relationships is that people who are so brutally blunt that they cannot help themselves from saying hurtful – if truthful – things to others are considered to be on some kind of spectrum. Think of the Emily Deschanel character, Temperance Brennan, on Bones, and Jim Parsons’s portrayal of Sheldon Cooper on The Big Bang Theory. They get big laughs using what I call the Ice Pick Theory of Honesty. I liked both series very much, but you wouldn’t want those people as friends.
But speaking for myself, it’s possible that the worst lies are the ones we tell OURSELVES. Let us look at just a few.
SURE, I’VE BEEN DOING GREAT ON KETO, BUT THIS ONE CUPCAKE WON’T HURT – No, it won’t. But it isn’t going to BE one cupcake, is it, Susan? That cupcake is your gateway drug to the half pan of lasagna and four Buttermilk Biscuits. And the leftover Chocolate Babka which, you know for a fact, is in the freezer. So unless you are planning to pretend that you are happy with what you weigh – which is an okay option, by the way — put down that cupcake and step away from the pantry toward the celery and carrot drawer in the fridge. Sigh.
I DO NOT LOOK A DAY OVER 60. THAT STYLE IS NOT TOO YOUNG FOR ME! No. That style would be too young for you even if you actually WERE only 60. But you aren’t. Remember how decades ago you averted your eyes from the aging saleslady in the tony dress shop in Palm Springs because she had on a dress cut down almost to her navel and her cleavage had pleats? It wasn’t a good look for her and it wouldn’t be for you either. Even paired with her knee-high suede boots that on you would look like hip waders. Unless you are going duck hunting, those boots are not for you.
PEOPLE LIKE ME BETTER WHEN I DRINK! Fortunately, I have never had a problem with substance abuse, not counting the aforementioned lasagna and cupcakes. I feel very grateful that I am such a lightweight drinker that I literally could not BECOME an alcoholic at this stage of my life if I devoted every energy to the task. And that’s a pity considering the current political climate, where staying drunk might be a viable option.
Maybe once or twice a mont, I enjoy drinking fun froufrou martinis that my favorite waitress makes for me, but ONE is my limit.
Sometimes I will be having so much fun being so relentlessly witty and entertaining that I think, “What the heck, bring me another. I have only run this experiment two or three hundred times. What if the results were anomalous? What if THIS TIME Joe is wrong that having a second drink would be a bad idea?”
But, no. It is a very short trip from humorous to garrulous to obnoxious when alcohol is involved. Not even to mention dangerous.
One time – es verdad – I was out to ZTejas with my bestie, Angela, and I had had THREE Chambord Margaritas because I thought I had laid such an effective base with the chips and dips and giant enchilada, rice and beans. And it seemed like a good idea at the time to take my big knife out of my fanny pack to show Angela how it opened.
It was not quite a switchblade, which would have been illegal, but kind of a cousin to the switchblade. I got it open, and then for the life of me could not get it closed again. Nor would it fit back in the fanny pack. There was about an 8-inch knife just sitting on a table in a crowded restaurant until Angela grabbed it (by the handle) and put it in her big purse just as the waiter was bringing us our check.
And I will say that, although I have had TWO Chambord Margaritas since (with Joe frowning exuberantly and “helping” me drink the second one) I have never again had three. So, progress, not perfection.
I AM GOING INTO THE GUN STORE JUST TO BROWSE. I DO NOT NEED ANOTHER GUN. The late, great Tina Turner asked, “What’s Love Got To Do With It?” and I “second that emotion” in regard to “what’s NEED got to do with it, when it comes to cool weapons?” The very first thing you learn when you buy your first gun is that one is not going to be enough.
LOOK AT WHAT I GOT ON SALE! I “SAVED” OVER $200! Husbands, in particular, are notoriously skeptical of these kinds of “savings.” They are wont to point out that, no, you spent $600 on merchandise which was marked down from $800, so you not only did not “save” $200, you SPENT $600. You can tell because your checking account is down $600, not up $200. That’s what’s called a clue. Quod erat demonstrandum.
An exception of course, is if your husband bought anything related to a phone, a computer, a stereophonic sound system or an automotive doodad. Then, the savings are legitimate and much to be prized. See, also: Golf and Guns. The latter of which is totally understandable.
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